difference
by Khayr
Summary: Six percent per day was never an acceptable amount, but it was the best that they could manage. At least, that's what she was telling herself. To make a difference, she had told Dredd the day they had met. That was why she had pushed on to become a Judge.


A gift for a friend of mine that shared one of her headcanons with me. c:

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Six percent per day was never an acceptable amount, but it was the best that they could manage. At least, that's what she was telling herself. _To make a difference_, she had told Dredd the day they had met. That was why she had pushed on to become a Judge.

Days like today made it hard for her to believe she really could. Their patrol had gone normally enough, but that wasn't what bothered her. What bothered her was the list of thousands of calls that had been reported and the lack of Judges to respond to all of them. She was sitting at her desk now scrolling through the list of calls that had gone unanswered, a frown curled at the corner of her mouth. A cup of coffee was next to her, long since forgotten. How could she make a difference when all of those people still needed help?

Robbery, car jacking, a kidnapping, another robbery (this one armed), assault… the list continued on in such a fashion for pages upon pages. All of those people relying on the Judges to protect them, to _help_ them… and there was just no way. It wasn't possible to save them all.

Anderson was so engrossed in what she had been doing that she hadn't heard the knock at her door. It took her a moment to focus her thoughts enough to feel Dredd's familiar presence on the other side; he oozed impatience, with a thin layer of control (always control). She almost shot him a thought into his head to just come in himself, but stopped before she did. He wouldn't appreciate the push at his mind.

She shuffled up from her desk and swatted the door open. The annoyed look on Dredd's face was easy enough to see even with his helmet on. He opened his mouth to speak but Anderson was already halfway across the room, returning to sift through the ever-longer list of unanswered calls. He seemed to pause before he let out a low, disgruntled sigh and entered after her.

"You bailed on me," he growled, yanking his helmet off his head. She could feel his anger surface. She pushed back against it, trying to force it out of her own mind, and an irritable grunt followed. He must have felt her intrusion, if the stony look he gave her next was any indication. "Cut the shit, Anderson."

"How do you do it?" When she spoke her voice was quieter than she had really meant. She tried to put the same amount of emotionlessness and calm in it that Dredd always used, but it fell short. It frustrated her to no end that day in and day out he held onto his control no matter what Mega-City One threw in their direction. Was it her psychic ability that made it so hard to shut everything out? Suddenly what she called her 'gift' felt less useful in the grand scheme of things. Some days (the bad days) feelings from the crush of people around them assaulted her mind. It was difficult to keep all of them at bay.

"You're avoiding the question," he hissed. Reading people had never been Dredd's strong point, and he seemed to miss the fall of her voice. He threaded his fingers through his hair, making it more of a mess than it had been before. "You're a Judge, Anderson, and a damn good one. You can't let this shit get to you. You can't crack on me."

She didn't hear the change in his tone, but rather felt it. Dredd's anger ebbed away, reigned back behind his wall of control. Something indescribable surfaced instead. Anderson looked up from what she had been doing to catch him staring at her from across the room, helmet clutched in his hands. She let out a breath that she hadn't realized she had been holding.

"How do you do it?" she repeated quietly, "How do you keep going even knowing we can never catch every perp? We'll never elliminate all of the crime. One day we're going to go out on patrol and not come back, and the city will just… keep doing what it does." A frowned creased her features. She had tried so hard to keep up with Dredd, and here she was letting him down with a stream of nonsense.

Anderson willed him to speak, but for a few tense moments the senior Judge stood in silence.

"You can't think of it that way," he finally said, and the fire that had previously been in his tone had calmed considerably. She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue. Dredd looked ready to bolt back out the door, but finally huffed and dropped his helmet onto the table. He crossed the room in half the strides it usually took Anderson and pulled the tablet from her hands, placing it face down on the surface of her desk. He knew what this was about. Some days he forgot that she had barely been on the streets for a year. She had a long way to go.

He drew a slow breath. "You need to think about the innocents that you _did _save. You made a difference to them, even if it was just for today." Dredd's brow furrowed; he hated pep talks. It was things like this that kept him away from rookies and new Judges, but Anderson pulled her weight most days. He could forgive this time.

"When I said I wanted to make a difference you thought I was being foolish." She said carefully. Her eyes lifted to look at him, and if she didn't know Dredd she'd have thought he was scowling a little bit extra at her in that moment. She didn't have to read his mind to know she'd cornered him with his own words. He'd never admit she was right, of course, and she felt a well of satisfaction in her chest when he finally grunted and walked away from her. He grabbed his helmet off the table and jammed it back onto his head.

"Eight A.M. sharp tomorrow, Anderson." He replied instead. Changes in subject were typical of him when he knew she had made her point. She fought the smile that threatened to take over her face as he took off out the door to return to his own place.

He was right too, of course. She had to concentrate on what they could get done and the people they could help and not what was out of their control. Anderson rubbed her face with her hands before she decided sleep was her best course of action for now.

After all, the streets would still be there tomorrow.


End file.
